


I Picture It Soft, and I Ache

by orphan_account



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Not dialogue heavy, Role Reversal, dummies in love?, more Matt's perspective for once wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 14:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16493984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Matt and Foggy are roommates, one of them is a vigilante, and it's not Matt.





	I Picture It Soft, and I Ache

 

Matt likes his roommate. He does. He likes how Foggy narrates small details, he likes how he is quick on his feet, and how he stands up for Matt despite the fact that he don’t really know Matt. Foggy Nelson is nice and good, Matt believes, to his very core. Because people who pretend to be good don’t do it as naturally as Foggy Nelson does. No, Foggy is all genuinity and no hesitation, heart first then head. But something is off. Because for all the good he is, Foggy lies.

It starts the first week after classes. Foggy comes in later than usual- he doesn’t smell like booze or perfume or cologne. No, he smells like a fresh fight. Smells like iron and sweat and sounds like a slight limp with dry blood flaking off. When Matt asks him, casually, what he’s doing up so late since they have an early class tomorrow, Foggy laughs and says he was out visiting a friend back in Hell’s Kitchen, and he lost track of time. Matt just purses his lips as he hears the stutter of a heartbeat, a sharp inhale of breath, and tells him he better catch some sleep. Foggy hadn’t bothered turning the lights on and pretty much falls asleep instantly. Matt doesn’t, something is wrong.

They don’t talk about it.

Foggy progressively starts to worm his way further into Matt’s heart and before he knows it, they’re attached at the hip. And Matt wouldn’t change that for the world. They become known more as a duo, if ones missing, just ask the other and they can probably tell you. Matts never had a friend, not really, so the warm anchored feeling he get must be because of friendship, he convinces himself. The way Foggy, proverbially, lights up a room. How Matt would rather be lead around by Foggy than flirted with by any of the pretty girls at Columbia. By October, they’ve spilled their guts. Matt tells him about his dad, about the orphanage. Foggy tells him about how he had cancer as a teenager and that’s why he likes his hair long, his first heartbreak. 

But they don’t tell eachother everything. Matt keeps his secret tied in his heart, never loosening his lips enough to say it. Wonderful, warm Foggy wouldn’t understand, he justifies, no point pushing him away. And he knows he’s not the only one keeping secrets because it keeps happening. Some nights, Foggy doesn’t come back at all, and Matt can’t help but stay up those nights, waiting. 

He likes Foggy; there’s no one quite like him. No one who doesn’t seem to have alternative motives, who is blunt and doesn’t treat him like glass. Foggy treats him like any other person. Well, that’s not quite true. Foggy treats him like he’s good and the best thing. Foggy invites him over for Thanksgiving and remembers the few stores he’ll get coffee from. Foggy is actually funny and uses this green apple shampoo that smells nice. Foggy is Foggy. And Foggy is synonymous with good in his mind.

But that doesn’t change the facts, that there is something off. But Matt plays blind to it. Pretends he doesn’t notice the tremors in his hands, pretends he can’t hear the wheezing caused by a punctured lung, pretends he can’t tell under all those layers that Foggy is bruised an array of black and blues. Because what else can he do but be a little gentler the day after, be a bit sweeter. Plus Foggy never complains, never even points out he’s in pain. But Foggy also never tells the truth about where he’s been, artfully dodging, sometimes lying.

After the finals, they go drinking. They drink and drink until Matt’s world spins and Foggy holds him and they’re laughing and everything is good. It’s early december and cold as hell, but the liquor keeps them just warm enough as they huddle together, walking over dead leaves as they head back to campus from Josie’s. Foggy mumbles into his neck that Matt is his best friend, and he’s happy they are alive at the same time. Matt wishes he could bottle that moment, the happiness that washed over him, the feeling that this is where he belonged. He just laughs before saying,  _ ‘me too, Fogs. _ ’ And when they get home that night, Matt asks up the courage, playing up his tipsiness, to see Foggy. He shouldn’t, he knows, but he’s curious and his inhibitions are loosened up. Foggy laughs sweetly and brightly and nods eagerly, saying something about how he must use that line on all of the girls.

He starts at Foggy’s chin, he has a relatively sharp jawline covered in spots of scraggly stubble that tickle the pads of his fingers. His face is plump and soft, slightly shaking underneath him. His nose is slightly crooked, for a break or two or three. It’s hard to tell, but it most definitely was not naturally that shape. Matt must make a face because Foggy asks if he had a particularly bad nose, voice light with underlying something. Something that Matt can’t make out right now, he offers a smile, one he can tell doesn’t comfort Foggy before saying,  _ ‘it feels like one too many punches.’ _ This of course hikes up Foggy’s heart, but neither say anything as Matt’s hands wander up to large eyebrows, eyelashes fluttering against his palms. Smooth forehead with a little acne that Matt couldn’t have guessed through his senses alone. He heads back downwards, fingers touching healthy cheeks when Foggy lets out a slight hiss when he touches a swelled area of his left side. Oh. He missed a bruise earlier in his catalogue. It’s to the far side, usually covered by hair. He tilts his head in a questioning motion. Foggy doesn’t offer a response. Matt caresses his face lightly, his palm flat against what he imagines is pale green burst blood vessels. They stay like this for two seconds. Two seconds which feel like they burn Matt’s hands, and he’s more than happy to let it. But as Foggy’s heart is still racing but it seems to gain speed, so fast Matt thinks the thing might just explode, realizing how inappropriate it is, he does something much more appropriate. Touches his lips. They’re a bit dried out but overall smooth and smell like cheap rum and the honey chapstick he uses.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. They don’t talk about it. And Matt wonders if Foggy remembers it. He wonders if he wants him to or not.

Foggy begs Matt to come visit his family since he had refused the Thanksgiving invite. Honestly Foggy could ask him to sleep outside for a week at this point, and Matt would. Not that Foggy would ever ask that of him- no, he’d never do anything that he’d even think could make Matt uncomfortable. So they head to the Nelson’s residence. The living space is above the family’s butchery, which lingers under everything, slight scent of dried blood and decay. But Mrs. Nelson’s constant baking of sweets with all her kids home is enough to distract Matt. Everyone is beyond nice. His sisters are inquisitive and teasingly call Foggy Frankie and Franklin, his brother has a strong handshake and a soft voice, his father is there and stern and gentle and considerate. It’s perfect. It takes time to adjust but it’s like it came straight from a Hallmark film. 

One night, around two or so, he hears Foggy and his father talk. It’s almost an argument, strong opinions with the feeling of justness on both sides. It takes a moment for Matt to be able to hear what they’re saying, wiping away the sleepiness.

_ “You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep doing this.” _

_ “That’s my decision to make.” _

_ “Does Matt even know?” _

_ “No. And he doesn’t need to.” _

Foggy says it with such a tone of finality that it stuns Matt. He’s never heard it, not even in the classes where they debate. It’s strong and leaves no room for question. When Foggy creeps into their shared room half an hour later, Matt pretends to be asleep. Foggy only gives a sigh of relief. He smells like gunpowder and open wounds that are bleeding against cotton bandages. But he’s alive.

The next day Foggy shows him his favorite spots in Hell’s Kitchen. They both grew up, but yet their experiences are so wildly different. Foggy drags him to an bakery that buzzes with electricity indicating christmas lights everywhere, where the baker knows him personally and tells him that his special isn’t here today. Foggy gets small beef meat pies for both and sweet strawberry pastries that leave powder sugar smeared on Matt’s lips. He takes him to his favorite book store, and then lamely notes he didn’t realise how they didn’t have braille before. Takes him to the park across from the hospital where he spent hours after chemo, enjoying fresh air. And it’s fun. Foggy passionately talks about old memories, funny stories where he usually got in trouble. He talks about falling off a tree and when he puked on an old dog and how his friends once decided to buy all the pastries. But in the back of Matt’s head, he can’t let it go. 

What is it he doesn’t know? Would Foggy ever trust him enough to tell? He feels hypocritical think things like that. After all, he is holding a secret too. But he can’t help it. They’re part of each other's life, Matt should know, he thinks. Another voice tells him by this logic, Foggy should know too. Whatever it is, Matt knows he’d accept it without question. Foggy doesn’t have anything to fear, anyone can see Matt is as loyal to Foggy as any person can be. And he’d heard the same thing about Foggy to him. So it should be easy. They should be able to be open and raw, but instead they spend good days together, enjoying the ease, holding their own secrets.

When he goes back to the dorm, insistent that he can’t spend Christmas with the Nelsons, Stick is there. He sits on the bed like some comic book villain with a degree of coolness as if he had been waiting for only minutes. It’s Stick. They haven’t seen each other in years, before he was in high school at least. Stick only offers six words before sliding out the window, smooth and as quick as a cat, not allowing Matt one word whatsoever. The words are heavy and lie under his skin:  _ you should follow your boy tonight.  _ It’s a reflection of a thought Matt has had many times. But he wants to respect privacy, but once the door is open, there’s no going back. He hears Stick’s voice arguing that Foggy hadn’t had privacy since the moment Matt walked in the door. It makes Matt sick just how much he wants to. How much he wants to know what Foggy is doing, to know what he is hiding. He’s scared that Foggy will never trust him enough to tell him. Matt could be patient and gentle for the rest of their lives, and there’s a chance Foggy won’t ever tell. But Matt doesn't. He exercises that much self control and sits on his bed just staring blankly at the wall, meditating to distract himself.

The days are empty without Foggy. He attends Mass, he helps with the orphanage, he goes to confession, he gets ahead of the new semester. But it’s so much more dull without him by his side, humming, making jokes and constant commentary. Furthermore he worries about him, worries that he’s okay, worries if he misses Matt at all. The answer is evident when he comes home early, home being the dorm, on December 28th, throwing his arms around Matt immediately. He says it was different without him, and that somehow this dorm has turned into a sort of home too for him. Matt lets his body sag into Foggy’s, he didn’t realize to what extent how tired he was. It’s like a weight is lifted from his shoulders. Maybe the dorm isn’t Matt’s home. Maybe it’s Foggy. But people aren’t homes, he thinks, people die and they disappear. Still, he can’t deny the familiarity and comfort that washes over in Foggy’s arms. 

On New Year’s Eve, after a few drinks and a few hits off a blunt, they sit on Matt’s bed. The world is slippery and soft and everything is less harsh. It’s like he’s under water but not in a disorientating way. It’s hard to describe but they’re both slightly giggle and their knees touch as they sit beside each other when Foggy exclaims they should play truth of dare. When Matt laughs at the idea like it’s the most outrageous thing, Foggy only becomes more insistent since he never got to play it in high school or undergrad like the movies show. Matt can’t deny him and agrees. The first few rounds are silly, tame things, spin around really fast for a minute, eat a spoonful of mayonnaise, what’s a secret kink, when was the last time they pissed their pants. It’s silly until it’s not.

 

_ “Do you remember that time you touched my face?” _

_ “Of course I do.” Matt hesitated a second before replying and when he did, his voice was gooey and melted, sincerity filling the silence in the room, as there’s noise in the streets. “Did you like it when I did?” _

_ “I did, yeah. I mean, I would like it if you did it again, sure, but I actually had another question,” Foggy shifts, his whole body turning towards Matt now, rubbing his hands together, “what did you think?” _

_ “It was you.” _

_ “What does that mean?” _

_ “It means it was good, perfect. That you were good, Fog.” _

_ “Broken nose and all?” _

_ “Yeah, broken nose and all.” Matt slides his glasses off, something he rarely does and copies Foggy’s position so they’re facing one another. He listens and Foggy is there, he hears the fabric move, hears his own heart thrumming, he smells the stench of pot and scotch and Foggy. “What’s your secret?” _

_ “To my good looks? I’ll never tell,” Foggy says with a smooth laugh, it’s a decoy, one that would usually work. But Matt feels like he’s under a spell, like tonight's the night. That if they enter this new year with lies, they won’t grow into something better. Matt isn’t ready, he isn’t, but he has to. Because he’s in love with Foggy Nelson, and how can he be in love if he doesn’t fully know him. And how can he hope Foggy could love him if he doesn’t know all of Matt. _

_ “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” _

_ “Did my dad tell you?” _

_ “No, no. But please just tell me. I’ll explain how I know you’re hiding something afterwards” _

_ “Matt, you might not like me afterwards, and that’s the last thing I want.” _

_ “I know you. There is nothing that can change that. Fog, you’re good, and I’m here. So, please, just tell me.” _

_ “Well, I hurt people sometimes. Bad people. People who the law can’t prevent from doing crimes. I protect people. It started when I was sick, I was so scared that I couldn’t do anything, y’know? I had to do something. There is so much bad in the world, Matty. And I thought, well, I thought there was a good chance I was going to die before I could help. Before I could come here and be a lawyer. So I took it in my own hands, and I just never stopped. I’m sorry.” _

_ “Why are you apologizing? You’re helping people, don’t you see how good that makes you?” _

_ “Matt, Matt, I’m not good. I’m hurting people, and sometimes, sometimes I like it. I can’t stop even if I wanted to.” And Foggy sounds like he’s being slowly pulled apart at the seams.  _

_ “When I was blinded, my other senses were heightened. To the point that I don’t need a cane and I can guess every ingredient in our meals. I can understand things better than the average person, so believe me when I say this, okay? You’re good, Foggy. Out of everyone and everything in this world, you are the best in the world. I’ve heard and seen the bad, but you have been a beacon.” Matt is only this way for Foggy, only this soft and kind and in love because of Foggy _

_ “We need to talk more about this later,” his voice is shaky and it hurts Matt’s heart, Foggy moves, and Matt wonders if this is it. His fear confirmed, Foggy leaving him. And he wouldn’t even be able to be mad at Foggy, he wouldn’t be able to muster up anger because it would be the smart move. But Foggy only moved a bit closer, “but can I kiss you right now?” _

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> wow me ending these stories really quickly? s h o c k e r.   
> me writing college au stories? s h o c k e r


End file.
